


what he wants

by jamingbenn



Category: Dream Team (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Miscommunication, Romantic Gestures, also blatant mischaracterization xoxo, are u ready for these tags, blatant misuse of hypixel, brat!george, done!sapnap, dream is whipped, george always gets his way, i also enjoy writing genius!dream who is actually just a huge idiot, simp!dream, so here have it have it all, they play a lot of minecraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26282521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamingbenn/pseuds/jamingbenn
Summary: in which it’s george’s birthday and dream is all too willing to indulge him. that is, if he can figure out what it is george wants in the first place.usually, that's no problem at all.this time, though. this time he's feeling a little lost at sea.or, george is a lil bratty boy and dream is a giant simp xoxoxo
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 868





	what he wants

**Author's Note:**

> i tried a new writing style and i dont know if i did the thing
> 
> so have the thing
> 
> all i can offer is that dream calls george babe in this
> 
> thats it
> 
> self beta'd, so absolutely completely fictional, with no intentions to disrespect the people whom these characters where based upon. don't cross post or cross share onto other platforms (twitch streams included xoxo). fic recs ok!

“It says here your birthday is next Sunday,” says Dream, staring blankly down at his calendar.

“That’s because it is,” George replies evenly.

“When did— How did I— Did you add that in my phone?!”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” George responds, calmly stabbing a man to death on his computer.

“What— I— Jesus, I wouldn’t want to be on Blue team right now,” Dream sidetracks, distracted easily by George’s imminent Bedwars victory. “It’s like you have a personal vendetta against them.”

“Maybe I do,” George hums. “Ha! Won. Easy. Buncha noobs.”

“Good job, babe.” Dream pats him on the back, before looking back on his phone, brows furrowed. “So, any plans for your birthday?”

“No,” George answers, turning away from his game to fix Dream with a stare.

Dream feels like he’s missing something obvious, here. Maybe he should ask?

He looks back up at where George is smiling pleasantly at him, which, that was becoming kind of vaguely threatening now, actually.

Okay. Maybe Dream definitely should not ask, then.

Well, Dream’ll figure it out. Right? Between him and the 1000 IQ points that his fan compilations on YouTube seem to think he has, he reckons he can definitely figure it out.

* * *

“Hey, Sapnap,” Dream starts, nonchalantly.

Sapnap’s eyes narrow suspiciously to look him, and his faux-casual lean against the fridge. “What do you want,” he asks, resigned.

“Nothing!” Dream threw his hands up in the air. “Why does everyone always think I want something from them!”

“Maybe because that look in your eyes has never meant anything good?”

“What look in my eyes.”

“You know, the shifty one, like you’ve done something wrong.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong! I have done nothing yet!”

“Is that what’s wrong?” Sapnap presses.

“… Maybe.”

Sapnap hums, unconvinced. “Is this about how George’s birthday is in a week?” He prods.

Whoops.

“How did you know when his birthday is?! I had no clue!” Dream protests, exasperated, and more than a little guilty.

Listen, it wasn’t _really_ his fault he forgot. If anything, it’s George’s fault himself. If he didn’t dare Dream to hit a 500 Skywars winstreak, he wouldn’t have spent the past week in an adrenaline fueled fugue state just to grind out win after win. Dream doesn't even _play_ Hypixel. 

“Uh, it’s written up there?” Sapnap pointed to the giant whiteboard calendar they hung up in an attempt to coordinate upload schedules.

Sure enough, on the little “SUNDAY” box, someone had scribbled “GOGY BIRDDAY” in messy capitals. It might even have been Dream himself.

Dream threw his hands up. “Alright, okay. Listen, it doesn’t matter that I _maybe_ forgot, cause I got it now. It’s in a week. I’ll come up with something by then.”

“Uh huh,” Sapnap drew the word out. “Got any ideas?”

“No.” Dream collapsed down into a nearby chair. “Care to enlighten me?”

“Bro, that man’s your boyfriend, not mine.” Sapnap took a loud, cheerful slurp of his soda. “His fussiness is your problem now.”

Dream pushed himself upright, huffing. Alright, so Sapnap wasn’t gonna be of any help. That’s fine. That’s fine. Time for plan B.

* * *

Plan B would have been clutch, that is, if Dream _had_ a plan B.

George finds him the next day, laid flat on his bed, watching an ant make its steady way across his ceiling. Dream’s named him Jack.

Wordlessly, George lays next to him. Dream exhales, distracted now by the warm points where their body’s were barely touching.

“Babe,” he tries.

“Mm,” George answers, joining him in his blank stare upwards. Dream wonders if he’s watching Jack, too. The ceiling isn’t that interesting, otherwise.

“I’m sorry I forgot your birthday was coming up.”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you want to do something for it?”

A pause. “… Kind of.”

“Anything specific in mind?”

“No.” George turns, bunching up the duvet under him as he turns to face Dream.

Dream stares back, expectant.

“You know, it’ll be my first birthday away from my parents," George continues, too casual, picking at a corner of their sheets.

Oh, Dream thinks. _Oh_.

* * *

Dream likes his parents plenty. He calls them once a week and sometimes they come over unannounced and his mom tuts at how their carpets aren’t vacuumed and nags at how their cutlery doesn’t match.

You know, the normal things.

George, however. George could call his parents daily just to ask for recipes at dinner time. He frequently texts just to ask about laundry detergents, he FaceTimes them to demand the dog on the reg.

George _talks_ to his _parents_ when the stress of YouTube gets to him, as it does for all of them occasionally; except when it happens to Dream he deletes Twitter off his phone and asks Sapnap to trash him at CS:GO for a couple of hours.

Instead, George calls his parents, retreats to his room, and glares icily at anyone who tries to enter.

(Dream knew this _thing_ they had was real when he let Dream in to sniffle on his shoulder for half an hour. When he let Dream overhear his mom’s comforting noises between his rantings on how toxic YouTuber culture could get.)

Dream’s fairly sure his mom loves him, but you could count on them to have a screaming argument at least once a month. Dream doesn’t even know if George’s mother has raised her voice at him even a single time.

Dream’s never thought twice about it, beyond being grateful that Mrs Davidson's unconditional love for George meant that she adored Dream too, just by proxy.

Now, though. Now there was something he _did_ have to think twice about.

* * *

The first person Dream tries is Ponk.

Unfortunately, “Wassup, my mortal enemy,” is how Ponk answers the phone, his British accent already grating.

“Hello, Ponk,” Dream magnanimously.

“So,” Ponk prods, a little gleeful. “How are you fucking up with George this time?”

Seriously, you make George cry one time— and that wasn’t even Dream’s fault! All he did was send George a video of a cute cat!— and now all his friends hate you forever. Pack it up, British gang.

Dream tries, unsuccessfully, to stop gritting his teeth. “I want you to know, it is only for sheer desperation, and for our mutual adoration of George, that I reach out to you voluntarily.”

“What?” Oh, so that’s what it takes for Ponk’s voice to go from murderous to concerned. He clears his throat guiltily. “Is everything alright with him?”

“He’s fine! I’m taking good care of him!” Dream whines. He hesitates, picking at his nails. “I think he’s missing home, though.”

Ponk makes a noise of understanding from the other end of the phone.

“So I was wondering,” Dream went on, “if you knew anything about how he usually spends his birthdays?”

“Ohhh,” Ponk responds. “‘Course. Bloody hell, I didn’t even think about that. That’s got to suck.”

“ _What’s_ got to suck?” Dream prompted, a little impatient now. Couldn’t Ponk just get to the point. Dream doesn’t think he asked too complicated a question.

“The Davidsons make a big deal out of birthdays. George always whines that he hates it, but you know how he is.”

Yeah, Dream does. The bloody fucker’s a lying fucking cunt, is what he is.

* * *

George isn’t exactly a _brat_ , per say. He just likes getting his way.

He’s pretty enough that most people are perfectly willing to just give it to him, too, but that’s neither here nor there.

Dream really needs to stop enabling him, he thinks, angrily, holding a forkful of pasta out to George, just because George pulled out the puppy eyes at his lunch.

He’s perfectly capable of stopping any day now, he tells himself, tripping over his own feet to grab George a beer after he made a sad noise when he finished his existing can.

He’ll stop giving in when it’s something he doesn’t want to do, Dream reasons, getting out of the sweet comfort of his bed to kiss George goodbye, all because George pouted after Dream didn't respond to his insistent kissy faces in the doorway.

He only does this because George always returns the favor, he implores himself, kneeling downto tie up George’s shoelaces, just becau— just because.

Well, fuck.

“You know, when I moved in with you, I didn’t expect you to do quite this much low muttering to yourself,” George comments. Dream jolts up with a start, George’s shoelaces slack in his hand.

“I think you’ve brought it out of me.” He replies evenly, trying desperately to recall how much he gave away.

“Ah,” George nods understandably, as if that made any sense at all. “I do tend to bring out the worse in people.”

Dream laughs, a little snort of a thing. “Thank god I’m too perfect for you to bring out much.”

“You know you love me anyway,” George answers, a ludicrous mix of self-assured and dismissive.

This seems like just the type of blasphemy that Dream absolutely should not encourage further.

… Maybe after he finishes tying George’s shoes. He’ll get to that then.

* * *

Sometimes, Dream thinks about how everyone in this household curses like sailors.

Case in point, right now. Sapnap and George’s loud, insistent, and some would say hyena-like cackling could be easily heard through his closed door. He sighs and looks longingly at his editing software. He’s not gonna get this video out today, is he.

Still, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. He gathers the empty mugs in his room, wondering idly how he managed to collect five empty mugs for just one person, and heads out to venture into their shared space.

Yet when he skid out into the living room, his roommates' screaming curses louder with each step, the sight that greets him bolts him in place in a abrupt halt.

His socked feet slip a little on the hardwood floors, and his free hand scrambles for purchase on the wall. Not because he was losing his balance, mind you, but because of a sudden lightheadedness.

There George was, radiant in the living room, his face lit up in animation, haloed by the warm afternoon light. There he was, giggling in gleeful delight at Sapnap cursing the whole ancestral line of the Fall Guys creators, screaming when he qualified for the next round by the skin of his teeth.

“This fucking game is fucking _bad_ ,” Sapnap’s hiss barely rose above George’s exuberance. He tosses his controller down, startling a little when he spies Dream standing in the middle of the hallway, face fond. “And what are _you_ doing here, you fucking simp _?_ ”

Something in Dream vaguely registers that he should probably be more offended by that than he really is, but he’ll process that when his world decides to start turning again. When his heart decides to stop seizing up in a desperate attempt to recover from being smacked across the face with affection, warmly lighting him up from the base of his scalp.

George turns, beam still plastered firmly on his face. Dream doesn’t think he’s imagining how his grin somehow gets even wider when he spots him.

Caught defenseless by the force of George’s happiness, Dream could do nothing else but smile back; his face a sheepish, hapless mix of adoration and joy.

* * *

For all that George is a brat, George is not usually a difficult person to please.

He’s never been one to demand three course dinners or horse drawn carriages or bouquets upon bouquets of flowers. He’s perfectly content with having McDonalds delivered to the house and beaming Skeppy videos onto their television instead of buying out a Michelin starred restaurant and dressing up for a night out.

He’s the happiest when Dream lets him _think_ he won their play wrestle fights, pinning Dream down while they struggled to catch their breaths. George is the happiest when Dream gives in and buys apple juice instead of OJ even though fridge space is _precious_ and also Dream hates apples. He’s the happiest at 4am in the diner two blocks away, the rustic little hole-in-the-wall where their server Barbara knows their orders by heart cause they’ve been there so much. He’s the happiest when Dream gets them milkshakes with their food even after insisting he didn't want them because really, he actually did.

It doesn’t take much for George to be happy, is the point. Which is why Dream’s always been more than willing to bend over backwards just to see George smile. Just to know that he did that, for all his bluster and all his pride, to know that he was the one who put the content smile on his favorite person's face.

Which is all to say, Dream’s not used to not knowing what George wants.

He doesn’t even really know where to begin, for the first time, which is truly terrifying. How do you whip up a special celebration for someone who thrives in comfort and familiarity? Also, what’s an extravagant gift to a man who pretty much can buy whatever he wanted?

(Not that he wants much in the first place, is the other thing. The only things George indulges in are hypebeast streetwear and expensive sneakers, as far as Dream can tell.)

Either way. George has a complicated relationship with attention. Dream doesn’t want to just make his birthday into yet another performance, but he doesn’t want his birthday to lapse without anything special either.

He buries his head in his pillow, muffling a frustrated scream. He’ll think of something. There’s one more week. That’s plenty of time. Right? Right.

* * *

“Techno’s pig rank gets funnier each time I play with him,” Dream giggles, fingers a blur on his keyboard.

“Mm,” George hummed, looking lazily over from where he was lounging on Dream’s bed. “Collab?”

“Nah, just playing Bedwars. Not recording.”

“It’s cool that Techno’s, like, recognized by the broader Minecraft community, you know?”

Dream turned around slowly to look back at George. “You’re recognized by the Minecraft community.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have anything, like, special to show for it. There’s not really proof I exist,” George went on, eyes now stubbornly glued to his phone.

“Well in that case there’s not proof _I_ exist.”

“Uh huh. It’s a pity, innit?”

Dream pauses. “… Sure,” he manages, as he hears the sound of himself dying in Bedwars behind him.

“Sure,” he repeats, an idea growing slowly in his head.

* * *

The first thing he does is he calls Sapnap.

“I figured it out!” Dream shouts, reversing into the Walmart parking slot with maybe too much ferocity.

“Jesus christ, bro, what the fuck?!”

“I figured it out. What I’m getting George for his birthday!”

“Alright…?”

“How good are you at baking?”

“I’ve never done it before,” Sapnap answers, too fast, like the liar he is.

“Alright, Mr. Weed Brownies. You’re in charge of baking the fucking cake, good luck have fun, better fucking figure it out.”

Dream hangs up through Sapnap’s colorful cursing, pleased. Step 1, done.

—

**TWITTER DIRECT MESSAGES**

To: Simon @ Hypixel @Simon_Hypixel

Hey man! This is Dream. I know you’re busy, but it’s my friend George’s birthday in a week, and I was wondering if we could do something special for him? I was thinking maybe redecorating the lobby with a “Happy Birthday” banner, idk. I’d be willing to pay to make this happen, of course.

To: Dream @DreamWasTaken

I’d be more than happy to try and make that happen! We all love your content here I’m sure the team will be more than happy to build something in the lobby. What about a special “Birthday Boy” rank???

To: Simon @ Hypixel @Simon_Hypixel

That’ll be SICK!!! Let’s make this happen. He’s gonna love it!!!!

* * *

Dream wiped his hands on his jeans as the phone rang. Not quite sure why he was sweating, exactly. He’d spoken to George’s parents plenty of times, but never quite to announce his undying love for their son. Which is what this felt like.

The tone of the call connecting jolted him out of his slouch.

“Hello?” George’s mum picked up.

“Hi!” Dream began, clearing his throat when it broke just a little. “How are you doing, Mrs. Davidson?”

“Oh, Clay!” Dream smiled at her warm voice. “I'm doing well. How are you doing?”

“I’m good, thank you,” he answered. “I called you because I wanted to ask, uh… Did you have any plans for George’s 24th?”

“Oh!” She sounded a little surprised. “We were planning on having a cake, and FaceTiming him as we ate it, you know, not the most celebratory, certainly won’t beat last year’s yacht, but what can you do…”

Last year’s yacht? Christ, were these people made of money?!

“Uh,” Dream hesitated. “So, about that…”

* * *

“Hey,” Dream smiled, fond, at where George was absentmindedly tracing circles onto his arm. “Don’t make plans for tomorrow.”

George paused the CaptainSparklez video they were midway through watching.

“Yeah?” He asked, face turning up in a tentative smile. “You’ve got something up your sleeve?”

“Maybe,” Dream teased.

Yeah, this was going to work out just fine after all.

* * *

Phase one of the plan was very simple. First, burst into George’s room way too early, drag him kicking and screaming out into the living room, park George’s pouting self on the couch, disgruntled and bleary eyed.

Second, open the front door, where George’s parents were waiting, shout “SURPRISE!”, stand back, and watch as all three Davidsons burst into happy tears.

Sapnap laughed, sharing a look with Dream over George's screaming. Dream smiled back, shrugging, a little “what-can-you-do” thing, as if he wasn’t the one who shelled out for last minute plane tickets and picked up the Davidsons from the airport at 5:30am.

George looked over his parents' shoulder to meet his eye, mouthing “thank you” through his delight. Dream smiled back, helplessly.

The day was just starting. It was only gonna get better. He had so much more ready.

For now, though, he was going to bathe in the smug reassurance of being the cause of George’s joy. Just languishing in the warmth of George’s smile for a little bit more.

* * *

Dream heard the soft closing of his door behind him, and turned to smile at George, who’d followed him into his room.

“Thank you,” George said softly, going on his tiptoes to draw Dream into a hug.

“It was nothing,” Dream mumbled into George’s hair. He squeezed him, just a little, before continuing, “wait till you see what else I’ve got.”

“You didn’t have to do all this, you know,” George answered, voice soft. He drew away to look Dream guiltily in his eyes. “I know I can be pouty sometimes, but I would have gotten over it.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want you to,” Dream rolled his eyes, dragging them both down to squeeze into his gaming chair. He jostled at where George was now perched in his lap. “Besides, this was the easy part.”

“Yeah?” George bit his lip. “Did you buy me a car?”

“What?! No!”

“Oh.” George looked away shiftily. “Right. That would have been too much.”

“Do you want a car?!” Dream pressed.

“… Maybe.”

“Babe. Oh my God. Whatever. Either way, be ready for something special this afternoon. You may have to be on camera, but you don’t have to be if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind,” George huffed, his little breaths of air tickling at Dream’s neck. “But my parents should probably head to their hotel soon, jetlag’s gonna hit them like a truck. I would know.”

“Mm, you mind driving them there? The Hyatt.”

“Only the best for my parents, huh,” George teased. “Yeah, I got it.”

—

In the time George would take to send his parents to their hotel, Sapnap and Dream had about two hours to 1. bake a cake 2. set up their decorations and cameras and 3. get the Hypixel event up and running.

Plenty of time, theoretically. Practically, this meant that they were still covered in flour when George texted that he was 10 minutes out.

Despite all that, the event went well. Sure,

  * the giant, 40 person teamspeak may have rapidly devolved into chaos, and
  * the server maybe crashed more than once, and
  * they might have embarrassingly lost the Bedwars tournament Hypixel set up on with a custom GeorgeNotFound map, and
  * most of the cake they baked was maybe wasted, ending up more in George’s hair than in their mouths.



However,

  * George still ended up crying plenty of happy tears.



So really, if you asked Dream, an exceedingly successful time was had by all.

—

“Thanks for today,” Dream startled, jumping a little at George’s voice behind him as they mopped bits of cake off the floor. “I had a great time.”

“Hey,” he smiled, turning to see George's happy face. “That’s all I wanted.”

“Congratulations, you succeeded.” George shifted, putting his hands around Dream’s waist. “It was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

“Better than the yacht?”

George laugh, a honest and loud thing. “Definitely.”

“What if I said I still had a little something?”

“No,” George narrowed his eyes. “Dream, really. That’ll be too much.”

“C’mere, then,” Dream gestured, putting aside the mop to settle back in his chair. George went, easily, resting on Dream’s knee.

Dream booted up Minecraft for a second time that day, drumming his fingers on George’s thighs as it loaded in.

“Minecraft again?” George teased. “Just tell me you’ve bought out the game and leave.”

“Nah,” Dream chuckled, opening up their shared server, the one that’s just between the two of them. The one they use to test plug ins but also to plant roses bushes in their shared garden.

“Should I go log in on my computer?” George asked, pushing Dream's hair back.

“Nah, just wait for the chunks to load,” Dream answered, patiently.

And when they did, George couldn’t help but sputter into hapless laughter. “I hate you,” he grinned, whacking Dream over the head lightly. “You’re an idiot.”

Right there at spawn, Dream had written out in junglewood planks, “HAPpY BIRTHDAY GOGY”, which was on par for course. Next to that, however, was a giant, semi-realistic 2D penis, pixellated, but unmistakably vulgar. It had a little ribbon in the shape of a little heart tied around it.

Dream broke, joining in with George's little snorting giggles with his shit-eating laugh, all sorts of pleased and smug. “Yeah, I am.”

And even as George started wrestling Dream away from the mouse, trying to blow it all up with TNT; even with Dream shrieking, smug, about unappreciative birthday boys as he fought back, they both knew.

They both knew that George wouldn’t have had his birthday any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> i tried to warn u that none of this was going to make any sense
> 
> anyways follow me on tumblr: [jamingbenn](https://jamingbenn.tumblr.com) (prompts welcome)
> 
> scream at me in comments and drop a kudos xoxo love u all
> 
> p.s. did u catch the captainsparklez propoganda i slipped in
> 
> also read my other fics [tpwwtp](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25774585/chapters/62599591#workskin) | [somerset lane](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800146/chapters/59977120)


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